


Sub Zero

by insectcondo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canadian, Fakement, Frozen to death, The Buried - Freeform, The Spiral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insectcondo/pseuds/insectcondo
Summary: My own fake statement about an archives in Canada. Goes along with a recording.
Kudos: 2





	Sub Zero

Statement by William Caron. Recorded May 14, 2020. Statement recorded by Phoenix Wallace, archivist of the Archives in Montreal, Canada.

Statement begins.

I didn't do it. I (sigh) know how that sounds. I - I know how that sounds. It's a very flimsy way to begin considering I have a prison sentence coming up, but I will say it again. I. Did. NOT. Do. it.

Let me take it back from the beginning. It was Janurary 2009, and I just moved into Toronto from London to attend Ryerson College. I had high hopes of becoming a finacial adviser for a protigeous company. 

I was pretty broke so I was thought I was saving money by moving into this junked up Cabbagetown apartment, that I learned later was actually scheduled to be torn down. Very old building, and it had been abandoned so long the flooring and walls had been torn up, and kids spray painted gang smypols on every surface. 

I apparently had a roommate, but he was downstairs and never one introduced himself. I never heard any noises or signs of life from the downstairs at all, and wondered if I just lived here by myself.

Still, I got to work remodelling. Or, rather, I got my friends who lived in the GTA, and who I had helped me move, helped me remodel.

They all said the same thing. If this is what's affordable, just leave the city and commute. The suburbs were much more affordable than Toronto, and this place was extremely unliveable. Still, I think it was my pride at finally living in the city fought my rational sense. 

My friends uh there was Terry Reginault, Spencer Kerri, Simon Deng and Clark Martin, for your records, they begin to get more irritated with me, and eventually left me to my own devices. They couldn't understand my insistence and stubborness to live here. London, they would say, was smaller than Toronto, however the rents were affordable. 

Looking back, it's only too obvious to me. I had no choice. None of this I had any will or say in, I was controlled, and still being controlled. I had to stay in the house.

I commuted to school in my VW Rabbit that I had parked on the street, and I often got back home late. I would idle, and sit in my car for a bit, thinking about what I had to do when I got back inside. 

That's when I noticed the light. 

Again, I've never noticed any signs of life from my downstairs neighbour, so I thought it couldn't hurt to say hello, even though it was just after nine pm. I parked my car and stepped outside.

I guess I don't have to tell you about Canadian winters, and I was studying the winter semester, but it was unusually cold that night, at least for Southern Ontario. It was hard to breathe and I felt like I was getting frost bite immediately. I trudged the hundred meters or so to the porch, my legs already frozen. I felt colder now, even out of the wind, standing on the porch. 

I knocked on the door. It was wooden, and very very cold. There was no answer. I tried the door. It was unlocked and swung open easily. 

I shouted hello. I didn't mean to barge in. That I was the new roommate. There was no answer. There was no movement. I stepped inside.

There was snow covering every inch of every surface in the house. Layers centimeters thick lay unbroken. I shivered and my boots made crunching sounds over the snow. There hadn't been a snowfall yet, surprisenly, but this house was covered in it. 

I realized then, that the light I saw must have just been my headlights reflecting off the snow. 

Then there was a great gust of wind, and the door slammed shut behind me. I tried to open it, but it was so cold I couldn't feel my fingers. 

I decided to take a look around the house. Maybe someone was trapped. Past the kitchen (fridge open filling the room with icy air, stove iced over, cabinets were all one block of ice) the snow got deeper and now it was knee height. 

That's when I saw the shoe. It was an adult Nike shoe, can't have told you what colour it was since the colour had all but faded. There. There was a foot inside, the bone broken clean off. 

I had a sick feeling of dread. The snow was perserving. I was going to die. I was going to freeze to death, and no one would find me. 

I started to dig in the snow, ignoring the firey pain in my arms as I threw armfuls of snow behind me. There were more bones, some still had the flesh attached, but a lot looked very old, like they'd been there for years.

I was frantic then. I had to get out. I don't know how long I was in there, banging at the door, kicking at it. There was blood covering my hands.   
I must have blacked out. 

When I came to, I was handcuffed to a hosptial bed, surrounded by police officers.

They all think I did that. 

That's crazy. I didn't do anything.

Statement ends.

So this led nowhere. I looked up the names of Mr. Caron's friends, and they don't even live in the Greater Toronto Area.   
William, himself however, has owned the place in Cabbagetown for a decade since his statement in 2009, which means he would have moved in in 1999.


End file.
